Prototype: The Lost Case
by archivistoflostsouls
Summary: This story takes place between volumes 5 and 6 of the Gunslinger Girl manga. It will be released in chapters as I can get them up. Credit for Gunslinger Girl and all characters contained goes to Yu Aida.


_We take our life for granted, until someone takes our life._

**Chapter One: Osteria Boccadoro**

Twilight, in Venice. An oppressive heat lingers over the narrow streets. From a nearby canal drifts a smell of sewage. There, in the wall, surrounded by featureless shops, sits the Osteria Boccadoro. Inside, a family is dining. A family that will soon be torn apart.

Amelia Meir sits, eating her food. She always enjoys trips, to see the old buildings and fancy restaurants. But this trip seems off. Too sudden. She glances up at her father. She hadn't thought of it before, but he has seemed agitated. Dark blotches highlight his cheekbones. His hand is constantly tapping. He hasn't even finished his pasta, and is already putting down his fork, mopping his face.

"Father?" Amelia asks. He turns his head to her. She can see now that his face is weary, his eyes tired. Something is wrong.

"Father, what is it?" Amelia says. He sighs, a deep sound of anguish. His lips part, then close, as if he is thinking about what he should say.

"Amelia…" He begins, then runs his fingers through his course black hair. "I didn't want to tell you this." He sighs again. Amelia stares at him.

"You see, there's trouble at work." Her father says.

"At the bank?" Amelia interrupts. She knows her father works at the Banca d'Italia. "You're an accountant, right?" She felt proud learning such an expensive word, though she still doesn't know what it means.

"Yes, Amelia, at the bank. You see, Mr. Keaton… you remember him?" Amelia nods. He had been over to dinner once. He scared her, though she isn't going to tell her father that. "Well, he… he stole money. And I helped him."

Amelia stares at her father, horrified. "Why? Why did you help him?" She cries.

"Listen, Amelia! Please, try to understand. I would have been fired if I didn't. I have a good job, I can take care of you, but I would have lost it if I didn't do this." Tears begin to well up in Amelia's eyes.

"No…" She stands up, bumping into the table, and knocking a glass onto the floor. It shatters with a crash. "No… You didn't have to steal!"

"Amelia, wait…" begins her father, but it is too late. Amelia is already running, far away from him. Through the restaurant, outside the door, and into Venice. She runs randomly, on crowded sidewalks, across arching bridges. Pushing her way between tourists and natives. She can hear her father calling for her in the distance. She ignores the voice, instead rushing further and further through the twisted streets.

She turns, and runs into an alleyway. It's a dead end. She slumps down against the brick wall, and buries her head in her hands. She begins to sob. There she sits, trying to understand her thoughts. _Her father stole. Her father broke the law. He… he would go to... _She can't bear to imagine her father being arrested. He's always there for her. A life without him is unthinkable. As the last light fades from the sky, the stars begin to appear. Amelia slowly stops crying.

The humid heat of the day is gone, and cold replaces it. A creeping cold, that freezes her to the bone. Amelia shivers in her dress, clutching her arms to her chest in an effort to warm up. She regrets her impulsiveness now. All she wants is to see her father's face, to be in his warm arms. She slowly rises. The streets seem much darker now. All the pedestrians are gone, chased indoors by the night. Amelia walks out of the alley, looking sideways at the long river. Far down it, a gondolier rows a young couple. He sings in his wavering voice:

_ Sul mare luccica l'astro d'argento. Placida è l'onda; prospero è il vento. Venite all'agile barchetta mia! Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia_…

The tune is haunting, reminding her of home in Sicily. It increases the aching in her heart, to find her father again. She walks slowly down the sidewalk, unsure of which way she went. Turning her head, peeking around every corner, she continues. Venice seems scarier now. Far to her left, she hears the hubbub of voices. Tourists still out, exploring the place so famously called the city of lights. Before she has a chance to investigate, a hand clasps on her shoulder.

"You're name is Amelia." The man behind her rasps. "You're Ricardo's little girl, aren't you?"

Amelia stands frozen. The iron like grasp of the hand tightens, pulling her closer to the man. She feels something hard and cold press into the small of her back. It hurts. She starts to scream.

Just as the sound leaves her lips, another hand smothers her face. The rest of the scream sounds muffled, distorted by the thick glove. It smells of leather. The man bends down, placing his lips next to her ear. His facial hair scratches her cheek.

"Don't scream now, Amelia. You wouldn't want to get hurt, would you?" His breath carries a nauseating smell on it, something Amelia only smells when her father drinks.

Amelia stops trying to scream. Tears stream down her face, spattering the dark glove.

"Good. Now, I don't really want to do this," The man pushes the cold thing further into her back. "but it's for the greater good."

A loud bang sounds, resonating off the walls. Amelia feels something hot and wet running down her body. Before she can register what is happening, the pain hits her. The man drops her, leaving her to gracelessly crumple onto the floor. The only noises she can seem to make are short gasps. The burning agony seems to dominate her, running through her body like electricity. Behind her, the man flips open his phone.

"It's done." His voice sounds deep and garbled, as if he was speaking underwater. "Yes, I shot the girl." The man checks his watch. "Yes, I understand." He snaps his phone closed, and walks away. As black spots crowd Amelia's vision, as ringing fills her ears, she hears his footsteps slowly fade into nothingness. Then, she fades into nothingness as well.


End file.
